The Definition of Love
by insaneprincess
Summary: Draco/Hermione. A series of unconnected drabbles based on randomly chosen words from the dictionary. Currently: Dissever. "If it was a mutual decision," she said, "then why the hell are you so upset about it?"
1. Foe

Disclaimer: Yeah, I'm pretty sure I don't own Harry Potter. Like, 100% certain, unfortunately.

a/N: Yes, I'm fairly crazy to take on another WIP now, but that's okay. Well, this is a challenge I'm giving myself. This is a big set of drabbles of Draco/Hermione love, because I only have one more chapter left on my Dramione drabble story "Shards of a Broken Mirror", and I love writing these drabbles. So, for each drabble, I'm going to open the dictionary to a random page, and pick a word on that page, and base the drabble on that word… kapeesh?

All drabbles are NOT CONTINOUS and do not form a story. They are UNCONNECTED.

So, enjoy, and please review :)

Foe.

_-- n _an enemy, an adversary.

She felt like a complete and utter bitch.

She was in the middle of a war, firing curses, dodging death every few seconds, and there was a piece of her that was ecstatically happy.

She couldn't help it. The idea had wracked its way into her brain, and it wouldn't leave. They were back at Hogwarts, and that meant that he was here. That she could see him again.

Which was ridiculous.

Because, last year, it had ended, for good reason. She was not coming back next year, and they were fighting against each other in the upcoming war. They were meant to hate each other. They weren't meant to want anything together. It should not be so hard to say goodbye.

But it had been. She had seen the pain in his grey eyes, as much as he tried to hide it. She could still taste that last kiss, the salty flavour of tears burning on her lips.

She snapped her eyes open.

This was how she was going to get killed. Getting lost in daydreams was not the best idea in the middle of a war. She might see him. She might not. It couldn't affect her this much.

She was supposed to hate him. He was her enemy. He was her foe. He was her target on this battlefield.

But, the fact was, she wasn't over him. She'd tried to be. She'd really tried. But, as much as she tried to feel something more for Ron, and less for him, she couldn't do it. She couldn't let go of what they'd had. She couldn't let go of how it had felt… some unspoken bliss, some private happiness.

But that was long gone, she reminded herself.

The war crashed around her, but her mind was far from that. She was fighting, she was a goddamn warrior, and in her mind, she had no idea what was going on.

She felt him before she saw him. Her body was still that electrically aware to his presence.

And, inevitably, she turned to face that pale, flawless face, and those stormy grey eyes.

And time stopped.

It was only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime, looking at him again, drinking him in. Getting lost in those grey eyes. Taking the well-needed deep breath to stabilize herself.

And raising her wand until it pointed straight at his heart, and in a detached voice, uttering the killing curse.

And looking into those dead grey eyes, she tried to tell herself it didn't hurt. It was the right thing to do. And it didn't hurt at all.

Because she hated him. He was her enemy. He was her adversary. He was her foe.

And, looking at his face, peaceful in death, she pretended she didn't know that he was also the only man she'd ever loved.


	2. Jumper

Disclaimer: I disclaim.

Another chapter for you! Slightly longer, which is always great. Enjoy, and please review!

2. Jumper.

_-- n_ a knitted garment for the upper body.

He knew it was hard for her.

In fact, he was surprised that she dealt with being with him. Before the war, they'd known it would end, all along. They'd known they were not meant to be together, and couldn't be. They'd known that they were young, and stupid, and naïve. And that they were foolish to even try to have anything together, when a war was fast approaching, when soon, they would be facing each other on a bloody battlefield, on opposing sides.

They'd known that it would end in goodbye.

But they had never expected there would be a chance for hello again.

He was not redeemed, per se, but he was not such a mess, two years after the war. He'd repaired himself the best he could, and worked impossibly hard (something slightly new to him) to get a good Ministry job. This really did matter to him.

And then surprisingly, he ran into her.

It should not have surprised him that she had an official Ministry position, that she was successful, that she was living. It should not have surprised him, but it did. He had tried so very hard to forget about her, about the very tangible 'them', which was a little too hard too forget.

And when he saw her again, crashed into her in the Ministry hallway, in fact, everything he had felt for her, and buried, crashed back into him.

Because, looking into those honey brown eyes, it was far too hard to forget.

He hadn't intended anything to happen between them. They'd buried those feelings two and a half years ago. They'd had to. It was not good to have regrets in the middle of a war zone.

But seeing her again, with the war over, hearing in the paper the Ron Weasley was dating Pavarti Patil, gave him an undying hope.

So, he took that chance, a month later, and asked her out to dinner.

To which she promptly refused.

It went on that way for almost four months. Until he finally just exploded and screamed at her, asking her why she couldn't give a guy a chance, why she couldn't seem to remember anything they'd had, why she couldn't just _try._

And she'd told him.

Well, she'd screamed it, actually.

About how, if she went on one date with him, she could never say no again. About how this was seventh year all over again, and she couldn't do that. About how didn't he see that she cared, that she'd never stopped caring, and that _that was what she was afraid of?_

And then she kissed him, and it all began again.

Except this time, there was no imminent goodbye. And although they kept it secret, he knew it didn't it always had to be that way.

And that was why he got down on one knee and asked her to marry him. Because, yes, it was going to be hard to tell everyone. But it was worth it. It would always, _always_ be worth it.

And she said yes.

And the wedding was small, they just went to the City Hall, and got married. He didn't have many friends, and hers, when she told them, weren't at all enthusiastic about it.

But, they didn't hate him, he realized. Maybe that was what pushed him to tears, that first Christmas since their wedding, when he opened a gift from them, _for him._

Because he'd always thought they hated him for stealing the sweet girl they all loved. He was sure they hated him, for being the massive secret she could never tell them. He didn't expect companionship with them, or to be close at all with Hermione's almost extended family. He'd given up on them.

But, as he held up the green Weasley jumper with a large grey 'D' stitched on the front, his eyes involuntarily watered. Because he hadn't believed it could ever happen, but they hadn't given up on him.


	3. Marriage

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry. That's depressing, but not quite as depressing as not owning Draco. :/

Enjoy, and please review!

3. Marriage.

-- _n _the legal contract by which a woman and man

become wife and husband; a wedding; a close union.

She hadn't meant to hurt him.

But she just couldn't imagine this. The idea of… marriage. Of being a wife and not a girlfriend. Of being the first mudblood Malfoy.

She didn't know if she could do that.

She wasn't as wonderful as he thought she was, and she couldn't see how this could work. She felt like Juliet, and she hated that. The day after her and Romeo had married they'd died. She wished her future didn't sound so ill fated.

But how could she be Hermione Malfoy? How could she change everything about herself, just for a few vows. She was not the romantic in this relationship. He wanted this, wanted her to be completely his, but she knew she already was, and she didn't need some marriage certificate and a puffy white dress to prove it.

Alright. She wasn't against marriage, per se. She was merely against the idea of marrying into that pureblood family tree. She couldn't be everything they could want of her.

And though the war was over, she knew the prejudice still lived on, in a quiet way. She knew his mother wouldn't quite approve, and if his father heard, in Azkaban, she didn't know what would happen.

This was just… not the future she'd expected. She'd expected in-laws that she wouldn't be afraid of. She'd pictured a huge, happy family.

Could she give up those dreams for him?

And she hadn't meant to do it, not really. It was just, there he was, before her on one knee, putting everything on the line, and the only thing that she could possibly think to do was walk away.

It was not that she didn't love him. She really, truly did. She couldn't imagine how it had happened, but she did. But. He was too idealistic and naïve. They couldn't get married. She couldn't even imagine his ring on her finger, his name as hers.

She sighed as she looked at the massive house before her. She hadn't imagined she could do this. But he wasn't at his flat. And she knew he visited his mother every Sunday. She hadn't imagined that it would come to this – cornering him at his parents' place – but she'd do what it took.

The gates opened.

She was shocked to find Narcissa Malfoy opening the door for her. Her face was expressionless, but not hateful.

And that was the surprise. The woman did not tell her to leave, even though she was a mudblood who'd broken her son's heart. She did not glare at her. In fact, she smiled a little, and said, "He's out back."

And so she took the torturous, mazelike walk through the mansion, to the garden in the back.

And when she saw him there, tearing apart the petals of a rose, and when he looked up at her footsteps, and when there were tearstains on his cheek, she knew she was doing the right thing. And she walked up to him, took his hand, and whispered,

"Yes."

And four and a half months later, she wore the puffy white dress. And signed the marriage certificate. And said the vows.

Because sometimes, that was what you had to do for people. You had to grow up, and face your fears, and take chances you never thought you could. Because that was the only way to show them how much you loved them.


	4. Spell

**Disclaimer: **_It's so not mine._

_A/n: Well, I don't really like this one, and it's really more about 'magic' than 'spell', but oh well. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. And reviews are always loved :)_

_Also, I apologize for the slower updates... being back in school is taking so much of my time._

4. Spell.

-- _n _a sequence of words used to perform magic; fascination.

She is not thrilled to be a muggleborn, but there are some benefits to it that no one notices.

Yes, she hates how she is insulted. She hates constantly having to prove herself to be better, and smarter, and always _more_, because her blood couldn't keep her at Hogwarts. Only her talent and hard work could do that.

But there was one reason why she felt that it was worth it to be muggleborn.

Because, other wizards and witches knew, their entire childhood, that they would go to Hogwarts, that they could make things happen, that they were _magical._

And she didn't.

But that meant, when things… strange things… started happening, and when she got her letter… Well, she wouldn't trade that moment of wonderment, seeing an entirely different world before her, for almost anything. She would hate to lose that.

But it was more than just that. It was everything. And the moment that she remembered most, that mattered most to her, was the first time she performed a spell.

She was on the train to Hogwarts. And she'd been reading her books, and trying on her robes, and living in the absolute awe of this beautiful world she was living in. And she looked at the squeaky, half-broken wheel of her trunk, and performed the spell that was in chapter two of her new Charms book.

And it worked.

And that is the feeling she can't forget. Living with that kind of awe. That kind of sudden, beautiful happiness.

And she thinks it a weak comparison, but it's the only one she has, for the first time he kisses her.

Because it's like that… expected, but not at all. Awing, and surprising and beautiful. And all she can do is look at him.

Because it's been eight years since that day, when her first spell worked. And she's long gotten over that wonder. She's lived through a war, seeing how magic, _her beautiful magic_, could be used to hurt and kill. She's spent so much time waving her wand, it's natural to her. Maybe, after all, she was born for this.

But him. _Him._ This is a kind of awe she hopes she never gets over, and never forgets. It was subtle, for the past five months, while he redeemed himself, and worked hard at his Ministry job, and became her… kind of… friend. But now, _now,_ is a kind of moment you hold onto. You revisit when you fear you'll forget. You cherish, and breathe for.

And so, she looks into those grey eyes, and realizes how everything has changed, but that this feels the same as that day on the Hogwarts Express. And she knows, _she knows_, as she catches his lips once more, that that's what he is to her.

_Magic._


	5. Hibernate

Disclaimer: Not mine, of course.

A/n: Sorry for the slow updates. School is stealing my time. Ugh. But here's another chapter for you, although the word hibernate is not actually mentioned in this; this one's much more ambiguous, and symbolic. In any case, I hope you enjoy it, and please review. :)

5. Hibernate.

_-- v_ to spend the winter in a dormant condition like deep sleep.

The snowfall is peaceful.

That's what she tells herself. _Peaceful_.

She swirls the red wine neatly, and stares out the window. The word doesn't seem comforting. Peaceful. It seems almost… ironic.

He'll be home soon.

She takes a drink of the wine.

It's easier to think with alcohol, she finds.

She sighs. It's no good waiting for him. She doesn't know why she is. She already knows exactly what will happen when he comes home.

He'll floo in, stumble on the books that she's left too close to the fireplace, set down his books. She'll heat up dinner quickly. He'll eat, they'll talk, but they won't say anything important. They'll do work, away from each other, separate ends of the couch. They won't talk. They'll go to bed, on opposite sides of the bed, not touching. They'll wake up, and go about it again.

She almost wonders why she bothers.

No,

She can't think that.

She fiddles with the ring on her finger. It looks dusty, she thinks. And, she realizes, it easily spins all around her finger.

She's losing weight.

She sighs. That's not something she wants to add to her list of problems.

She refuses to think that she's losing weight _because_ of her problems.

She hears the rush of the fire, and the muttered curse of a figure tripping over a pile of books.

She takes another drink of the wine.

--

She hates herself for the idea even entering her head.

She loves him. Of course she does.

It's just… not what she expected.

She chews on her lip.

It's snowing again.

She knows she should like the snow. It's one of the last ones this year, and she should appreciate the icy flakes. But she can't find that.

He was filled with mystery when she met him. He was ambiguous. Dangerous.

Does it make her a bad person if she feels that she can't care now that the mystery's been figured out?

She glances at the wine cabinet.

She's dying for a glass. But that's not a good idea.

She picks at a hangnail instead.

She just feels that maybe she was being reckless, and stupid. Maybe she really didn't know him at all. Maybe getting married to someone because he seemed so different, and wonderful, so like an adventure, was a really bad idea.

And he was no mystery. He was not so dark and troubled.

All he was, was afraid.

He was afraid of trust. Afraid of becoming vulnerable. Afraid of being dependent on someone other than himself. And that made her afraid. Because she was that way. And how the hell did a relationship work, when you were both afraid to need each other?

Well, she answers herself. You already know the answer to that, that's why you're staring out the window, alone. They don't.

--

But that's not all of it.

That night, she knows that's not all of it.

They used to be afraid to need each other. They still were, but they were better at it.

It was half their problems.

The other half, she realized, was sheer boredom.

_She was bored_.

And that, _that, w_as one thing she had to be afraid of.

She… can't do that. That was why she ran like hell from the idea of romance with Ron. She couldn't live that simple, boring housewife lifestyle. She was not that girl. She couldn't be.

She's lying beside him. Beside him, but not next to him. There's a foot between them. It feels like the Grand Canyon.

--

It's only when she sees the first tulip blooming that she gets the feeling time has passed.

And it has.

She hasn't properly talked to him since before winter.

They used to always talk. They were intelligent. They could talk about anything and everything, and they did. They had debates until the early hours of the morning, and didn't even realize time had passed.

She's standing outside when she looks at that tulip. It's a small garden, and those are rare in London. It's… eye opening.

It's spring.

_It's spring._

So, she stops. She stops, and just stands there.

Her marriage is falling to pieces. She and her husband hardly talk. She's lost too much weight. She drinks way too much. She spends too much time on her work.

And for the entire winter, she's been ignoring it all, and living her _boring_ life.

Boring? How did she ever classify it as boring, when it was shattering all around her?

How did she forget that she actually did care about him?

She did care about him. She cares about him.

She's always cared about him.

She looks at the tulip. It stands, tall and strong. It takes in sun and rain. It uses both to grow.

She ought to be like that tulip.

It's spring.

And spring is a better time than any for a new beginning.

She will go home, and she will dump all the wine down the sink. She will lock away her work papers, and eat a hamburger. She will dust off her wedding ring, and when her husband gets home, she will eat dinner with him, and she'll talk to him. She'll really talk to him. About anything and everything.

And when she looks out the window, this time, it won't be snowing.


	6. Dissever

Disclaimer: I don't ownnn!

A/n: So, I'm sorry. This is super late, and fairly short, and not even that good, and I have no excuses other than school eating my life/time, and general laziness. I really am sorry though. Here's a quick chapter, I hope you enjoy, and reviews are love :)

Dissever.

- _v _to sever, separate; to divide into parts.

She stares at the papers, willing herself to just bloody well sign them already. Staring at them didn't make them pop into non-existence, and it didn't make them change into something more pleasant. If she wants to change this moment, she should have done something a hell of a long time ago. It just hurts to realize that now.

She bites her lip. Hesitation really isn't an option. The quill is in her hand, everything's already decided.

It's just that Hermione Granger hates the idea of giving up on anything, let alone her marriage.

Hermione Granger is independent, that's true, but she's also hard working, persevering. Giving up is not usually a phrase in her dictionary. She wants to say that that's the only reasoning for why she doesn't want this divorce. Because she doesn't like giving up on anything.

She's not a vulnerable person, and it was hard enough to originally admit that she had fallen in love with the last person she was meant to – _Draco Bloody Malfoy, _for Merlin's sake – and now that they were getting a divorce, a supposedly mutual decision, she's swallowed up all of her feelings again. She's decided that honesty is a lost cause when every word they pass back and forth is like barbed wire, when she's forgotten what his smile is like, when she can still taste the last "I love you" on her tongue, but she just can't manage to say it.

And then of course, there's her friends, trying not to be so entirely smug, subtly reminding her that they said all along that it wouldn't work, that Draco Malfoy has always been, is, and always will be, a bastard.

Nowadays, they pat her on the shoulder, take her out for drinks, almost like they're celebrating. They never thought the two of them could last anyway, and don't believe her when, even now, she explains that he's not a bad person, they made this decision together.

Ginny, calmly downing firewhiskey, reflected everything back at her in a way that she didn't want to consider. "If it was a mutual decision," she said, "then why the hell are you so upset about it?"

She isn't, of course. She doesn't care about him anymore. It's over.

"Miss Granger?"

Her eyes flicker up to the portly wizarding divorce minister in front of her, something stinging inside of her. _Miss Granger_. She'd just gotten to like being "Mrs. Malfoy" and now she was back to Miss Granger, right where she started, young, naïve, alone.

"Miss Granger, if you would please sign here. Your signature is magically binding."

She wants to get up and scream. She wants to stop. She wishes she had said these things in the past few months, even this morning, at any point in time when it wasn't way too late. But she didn't. She didn't, and now she can't.

She can't stop herself, she looks at him. He looks calm and collected, but that's a pretty mask for the Ministry officials, and she knows him better than that. The mask is broken in his eyes – they're confused, watching her, and some part of them has softened. There's that one piece which is watching her gently, with care. And she sees it. And Merlin, she can't lose those eyes.

He looks perfect beside her, but she knows he's just a mess of flaws and faults. And she loves him for it.

She loves him. Did she forget that? Did he?

It doesn't matter who forgot, she realizes, veins full of ice, it's too late. His signature is there on the page before her, and she has no choices anymore, and it's her fault.

She signs the papers. It's one of those times where you do the exact opposite of what you want to, because you think you're proving something, when really it's just your pride, standing in the way of happiness.

Neither will remarry. Neither will dare to admit they made a mistake.

The rest of the wizarding world mourns the end of the marriage that brought the side of light and the side of darkness together. The rest of the world mourns, but they don't.

They move on. They forget.

Or, at least, they try to.


End file.
